“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ ”
We call them many different names — the lazy, the addict, the homeless, the welfare cheats. They are the people we stereotype — and in the process we make them the throwaways of our society. For the culture Jesus lived in — they were the outcasts, the sinners, the demon-possessed, the last, lost, least and little. Our Gospel lesson today begins with a gut punch:
There was a rich man dressed in purple — who feasts sumptuously every day. And, there was a poor man, laying by the rich man’s gate, covered with sores, starving to death.
Let’s clear up some questions right out of the shoot. Did you know there are two men named Lazarus in the Bible? One is a friend of Jesus — the brother of Mary and Martha. The other Lazarus is the one we have in our lesson this morning. Did you also know that the name Lazarus means “Helped by G-d”? When we learn about the circumstances of both men’s lives, we soon see the significance of the name Lazarus. And let me say this as well: just the fact that this man is named in our Gospel lesson today is significant. This is the only time Jesus gives someone a name in one of his parables — and that name Lazarus means “Helped by G-d” — which seems ironic, don’t you think.
Lazarus the friend of Jesus is the one who dies and is in the tomb four days before Jesus comes to his side. His sisters Mary and Martha are both upset — as is Jesus. So, claiming that he is the resurrection and the life (one of Jesus’ famous “I am” statements) Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb — thus proving the power of G-d and the name Lazarus, “Helped by G-d”.
But this is not our Lazarus today. Our Lazarus also finds his life to be in difficult circumstances. In fact he has had such an awful life that he himself did not saddle up next to the gate of the rich man. No, this Lazarus was such a burden to his family and friends that they have “thrown or placed” him at the gate (at least this is the impression the Greek language gives us). So crippled was he that he could not leave — he could not shoo away the dogs — he could not feed himself. There is no way the rich man could have not seen this poor man. And yet he was invisible. And he was a stranger.
In his book Stranger God: Meeting Jesus in Disguise Richard Beck writes this:
The problem with strangers is that they are strange—sometimes really strange. They might even be scary. At the very least, welcoming strangers can be awkward and uncomfortable, simply because they’re different. And that difference tempts us to narrow our attention and affections to the smaller group of people with whom we feel comfortable. Our failure to welcome others as Jesus welcomed is rooted in the natural and automatic narrowing of our affections from the many to the few, from the strange to the similar.
To the rich man, Lazarus was a stranger and would remain a stranger to him — even when a chasm separates him from the Bosom of Abraham — the rich man could not have compassion for the stranger.
We must work very hard to not fall into the same trap — to ignore the stranger in our midst. For in entertaining strangers, in serving and welcoming the stranger, we may just be entertaining angels in our midst.
Pastor Dave
Lutheran Schreff 